Downtara Castle
by MelodyOfSong526
Summary: The aristocracy is not perfect, no matter how much glamor overlaps the imperfection.**An AU GWTW FF. Based on the ITV1/PBS period-drama "Downton Abbey". Will try to follow the episodes to the best of my ability.**
1. Interlude: Introduction from the Author

**Well, my first update in the GWTW Community in...a while.  
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**Very big Downton fan now, so I decided to give this a try and weave a GWTW story based on the TV show. Quite proud of this interlude, actually.  
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**Reviews are lovely. Enjoy!  
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**_Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or GWTW. Downton belongs to Julian Fellowes, and GWTW is property of the Margaret Mitchell estate. Since I am not associated with either of these people/organizations, I cannot claim them to be mine (no matter how much I sorely wish they were)._  
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_Interlude: Introduction from the Author_

Downtara Castle is a beautiful estate, what with its pure magnolia-white exterior walls of alabaster and sweeping gravel drive. One cannot help but be mesmerized by its gleaming splendor. There are many rooms (105 in all), and one is easily entranced by its comfortable lifestyle; it is not at all ostentatious, but there have been times when a guest's jaw would drop to the floor as his eyes took in the grand house. The gardens are plentiful with the finest roses of Downtara Village.

Downtara resides in the noble English land of Kensington, a land where fairytales and myths have been believed to originate. Endless forests provide the perfect rendezvous for lovers. Dusty trails of pebbles and gravel weave throughout the village. One can consider it a "yellow brick road" of sorts; as long as the pupil follows wooden signs and the paths, they can easily find their way. Many shops and businesses are in the village: dress shops that the Ladies of Downtara go to for fittings, blacksmiths, a newspaper press (many controversial stories have been brewing there as of late), bakeries, a farmer's market (only on Tuesdays), a butcher shop, silversmith, and even a toy shoppe. It in itself seems to be a daydream, a mysterious land of such beauty and integrity.

The success of such a place is a result of the long line of O'Haras whom have carried the land for decades. The current Earl of Kensington is Gerald O'Hara. He is a fine man (one many admire greatly), and his pride for Downtara resonates throughout the lands on which he treads upon. Though he stands at a height of six feet and three inches, he is one of the shorter O'Hara descendants; his brothers used to tease him often of the height he lacked while they boasted about their "prouder" stature.

When he was 24 years of age, Gerald met an American woman named Ellen Robbilard. Ellen was a pretty woman; her French elegance was represented in both her feminine features and dress. Her father was a rich banker whom worked in New York. Ellen had grown up in the city, but soon found refuge in Atlanta.

At the time, Downtara was at risk of being sold since the O'Haras were quickly running out of money. They all were spenders, and were also buried heavily in debt. Late-night poker games were played by most of the O'Hara men. Unfortunately, the O'Haras were legendary for their poor judgments in the game. And, of course, they were all very fond of brandy. Therefore, with the high prices of brandy and cigars, in addition to the costly poker matches, the O'Haras were in trouble.

Gerald was horribly distressed, and soon grew desperate. The O'Haras were all very proud of Downtara; therefore, when Gerald had taken over, he didn't want to be the "failure" of the family. For, you see, keeping Downtara was almost like a tradition of sorts for the O'Haras. It was their child, their pride and joy. Letting it be demolished into rubble would be a most horrendous sin. No doubt, the O'Hara responsible would become shunned and "stained with the traitorous mark of evil that God has bestowed upon his head". That being stated, he naturally wanted to find some way of obtaining the money as quickly as possible.

When the two met, it was merely by coincidence. They were both at a local theatre in York. The Swedish opera singer, Christine Daaé, was holding a concert in remembrance of her tutor (the mysterious _Le fantôme de l'Opéra_) whom had once resided in the Paris Opera House.

Before the concert had begun, Gerald was frantically searching for his seat; he did not usually come to an outing such as this, but his mother had insisted.

"_Oh, do go, Gerald. You might as well grow accustomed to such middle-class activities."_

Ellen had simply cast a glance his way. Knowing who he was, she could not help but let out a tiny gasp. The future Lord Kensington was just several feet away from her! She had never imagined such an event ever occurring in her rather ordinary life! Seeing that he was a bit frazzled (perhaps men and women of such high standings did not visit the theatre often), she took a steadying breath and walked over to him.

"Do you need assistance with the seating arrangements?"

Gerald glanced up at the woman.

Judging from her tinny accent, he immediately could conclude that she was American. However, that factor was not what had sparked his interest. His breath _might _have slightly hitched after gazing upon her handsome features, but it was not the major reason.

Diamond earrings.

A crystal necklace.

The fine-woven silk dress.

Her lace cap donned upon her head.

Bejeweled hair accessories holding her hair in a neat bun.

He saw _money _in Ellen.

Before he knew it, a "devious" plan was unfolding in his mind. This woman could be the answer to all of his problems.

So, that is how the courtship started. The two began to talk aimlessly (even a bit during Daaé's famed "Think of Me" aria from _Hannibal_). They were both smitten; Gerald by her looks and fortune, Ellen by his attentiveness and kindness.

In the weeks following the concert, the pair saw more and more of each other. Ellen's father found Gerald suspicious of greed, but Ellen's mother stood against her husband and declared him to be a perfect gentleman. Gerald's mother was strongly opposed to the courtship as well. Roseanne O'Hara was no fool; she could tell what her son's plans were. Even if the money _did _save Downtara, the woman from whom it was coming from would not be admirable in the aristocracy. In her eyes, Americans had not the slightest clue about the importance of traditions that needed to be upheld.

Despite disapproval from both parties, the two married in the month of May. It was quite a grand affair at the cathedral; many guests from both sides were mingling with each other uncomfortably. The pair was a handsome one: Gerald had looked quite dashing in a traditional tuxedo while Ellen donned a dress with fine lace trimmings and jewels.

As she walked down the aisle, all whom were gathered could not keep their sights off of her. All of her movements were graceful and elegant; no doubt that she would make the perfect aristocratic wife of Lord Kensington. Her hair was done up in a tight chignon with ivory flower hair pieces holding it together. The veil was made of Parisian silk. Her mother's cross necklace was dangling around her neck. Pearl earrings fitted her ears comfortably. She was a dazzling sight, and all barriers between the two parties were suddenly invisible.

After they were wed, they proceeded to a large banquet at the _Château au Grande _ballroom. There the couple danced, drank exquisite champagne, and conversed with guests. The ballroom seemed to become more enchanted during the time. Moonlight had streamed in through the high-arched windows, casting an eerie glow about the pair. At midnight, the two left in their carriage. They soon had a long and happy honeymoon in Paris.

As the saying goes, the rest is history.

They have three daughters: Katie "Scarlett" O'Hara, Suellen O'Hara, and Carreen O'Hara. The three O'Hara sisters were all beautiful and prim, yet very different in how they chose to carry out their lives.

Katie Scarlett (more commonly referred to as just "Scarlett") is the eldest of the three. She is the "perfect" representation of an aristocrat: men called upon on her more often than on her younger sisters, she had perfect posture, she is as stubborn as a mule, and she performs tasks with the accuracy and propriety necessary. Her waist is the tiniest in the household, and her figure is modestly seductive. More than once, she has had her fair share of the beginnings of inappropriate behavior with men.

Suellen O'Hara is the middle child. Her features are child-like and mousy. Though she is always striving to be up-to-date with all of the latest fashions, Suellen always comes off a bit…plain. She is said to have a longing for a fairytale-like romance, but always is cut short of such proposals. Men of her acquaintance always prefer Scarlett. The thought that she might be doomed to be a spinster is rather depressing, and no doubt that it scares her a bit as well.

Careen O'Hara is the youngest daughter. She is a quiet creature whom enjoys reading novels in her spare time. However, she is also a very strong-minded and independent girl. She enjoys reading about "unladylike" activities (i.e. politics). Careen has not had many suitors, but then again, she has not yet come out for her Season. By no means is she chubby in the slightest, but she _does_ have a slightly thicker waist than her elder sisters. Unlike her sisters, Careen strives to be very ladylike and polite in public.

Lady Scarlett and Lady Suellen are always bashing each other's heads into walls. One can usually hear their brawls at an average of about thirty times per week. Whenever these fights break out, Lady Careen simply takes a stroll in the garden.

Their "Granny", the Dowager Countess of Kensington (mother of Gerald), often stops by for a visit. Though she still _slightly _detests her daughter-in-law, Roseanne does have a rather soft spot for her grandchildren.

Of course, there would be no Downtara without its high-maintenance staff.

Henry Cromwell is the current butler at Downtara. He is a strict man—most likely the strictest servant at Downtara—and has a very precise manner in which procedures are to be followed. Mr. Cromwell is (most probably) the reason why Downtara runs smoothly (most of the time). He has served the O'Haras ever since Gerald was a boy.

Alice Brown is the head housekeeper. Just like Mr. Cromwell, Mrs. Brown is a rather strict being. However, she tends to be a bit more sympathetic (perhaps it is a "feminine" instinct?). She was a Scottish farm girl before coming to work at Downtara.

Blythe Edwards is the head housemaid. She is often kind, but one should not consider the idea of crossing her. Blythe is highly respected both upstairs and downstairs, just as Mr. Cromwell and Mrs. Brown are. Though she finds little joy in her present life (she _has _been a bachelorette for quite some time, after all), Blythe loves Downtara. It is the only home she has known.

Marilyn Lowell is the cook at Downtara. Though a bit snappy, she is a woman with a big heart. She often believes that she is in control of the downstairs staff despite the fact that Mr. Cromwell and Mrs. Brown are repeatedly putting her back into place.

Camilla Wilmington is the one and only kitchen maid. She is a young creature (only 15 years of age), and is a rather foolish girl. Camilla often frets whenever her one and only companion, Mrs. Lowell, blames her for any (and all) kitchen mishaps.

The rest of the staff includes all of the essential servants: footmen, a chauffeur, house maids, gardeners, His Lordship's valet, a Lady's maid, a governess for the three daughters, a laundress, etc. Downtara's staff holds a grand total of 150 servants. Naturally, the Servants' Hall is often very crowded. Sometimes, the bustling of downstairs can be heard by the Lord and Ladies.

There is, of course, much more to be learned about Downtara. One might consider the idea of visiting in order to feed their curiosity. However, in reality, these grand folk are really not so different from the lesser classes. Of course, they are worth more than the less fortunate, but personality-wise, we are all equal. We are all made of flesh and blood, are we not? Does our rank in society truly matter?

Perhaps the secrets of Downtara are not so different from the secrets of the moderns, nor are they as safe.

Yours,

The Author

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**Continuation? I'll start working on the next chapter of _You Don't Know..._ASAP. Thanks for reading! xo  
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**(P.S. Had to add some Phantom in as well! xD )  
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	2. Cast of Characters

**For anyone who hasn't seen the show...this story will be confusing at first. So, I decided to add this little "Cast of Characters" chapter for you to refer back to (honestly, it's also for me to refer back to).  
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**And yes, I had to change some surnames...I do apologize.  
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**I'll be updating this as the story progresses. Therefore, I don't have to give too much away!  
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**The names are in bold only if an ellipsis (...) is before the name. But this only applies to the upstairs characters.  
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**New chapter is coming up later tonight (along with a little Downton rant).  
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******_Disclaimer: I do now own Downton or GWTW._**

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Cast of Characters

Upstairs

_The O'Hara Family_

_Lord Kensington/The Earl of Kensington/Father of Lady Scarlett, Lady Suellen, and Lady Careen/Husband of Lady Kensington/Sixth Earl of Kensington…__**Gerald O'Hara**_

_Lady Kensington/The Countess of Kensington/Mother of Lady Scarlett, Lady Suellen, and Lady Careen/Wife of Lord Kensington…__**Ellen Robillard (**__**née) O'Hara**_

_Lady Scarlett _

_Lady Suellen_

_Lady Careen_

_The Dowager Countess of Kensington/Mother of Lord Kensington/Mother-in-law of Lady Kensington/Grandmother of Lady Scarlett, Lady Suellen, and Lady Careen/Widow of the late Fifth Earl of Kensington (Edmund O'Hara)…__**Roseanne Thornton (née) O'Hara**_

_Sister of Lord Kensington/Widow of the late Mr. Trevor Lyle…__**Lady Heather O'Hara (née) Lyle**_

_Heir to Downtara and Family Fortune/First Cousin of Lord Kensington…__**James O'Hara **_**†**

_Successor of Heir/Former Fiancée to Lady Scarlett…__**Charles O'Hara **_**†**

_Lord Kensington's Third Cousin, Once Removed/New Heir to Downtara and Family Fortune/Son of the late Dr. Steven O'Hara…__**Rhett O'Hara**_

_Mother of New Heir to Downtara and Family Fortune/Widow of the late Dr. Steven O'Hara…__**Eleanor Branton (née) O'Hara**_

_Downstairs_

_(Note: Servants marked with __* __travel between both sets of stairs)_

_*Butler…Mr. Henry Cromwell_

_*Housekeeper…Mrs. Alice Brown_

_*Head Housemaid…Ms. Blythe Edwards_

_*Lady's Maid…Ms. Florence Johnson_

_*His Lordship's Valet…Mr. Mark Stevenson_

_*First Footman/Temporary Valet…Boris Clarke_

_*Second Footman…Stephen Roland_

_Cook…Marilyn Lowell_

_*Scullery Maid/Kitchen Maid…Camilla Wilmington_

_Chauffeur…William Benteen_


	3. April 1912: Part I

**My parents and I had a Downton marathon, so I wrote this chapter whilst rewatching series 2.  
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**Mostly a dialogue chapter.  
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**Oh, and to my US Downton fans: I suggest you don't watch episodes 5-Christmas Special of series 3.  
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**Now, let me explain that little blurb.  
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**I've watched series 3. I don't like a lot of what happened in series 3. Therefore, I don't know if I have the guts to actually write it into this story. Nevertheless, I will try to stay as close to the storylines as possible (even if it fatally hurts my heart once again).  
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**Haven't really proofed this, so...beware of spelling/grammar mistakes!  
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**_Disclaimer: I do not own GWTW or Downton Abbey (though I wish more so than ever that the latter belonged to someone other than Julian Fellowes)._  
**

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April 1912: Part I

In the quaint little village of Downtara, the newspaper editorials were printing madly as more and more telegrams came in. The familiar buzz and whitting was more pronounced than per usual. The aroma of fresh ink permeated the air while the heartbreaking news traveled throughout the ears of all gathered. All were shocked at the revelation.

_"How could it have happened?"_

_ "Unbelievable!"_

_ "How horrifying!"_

Wide-spread horror overwhelmed people as the papers began to sell. Townsfolk gasped as they read the massive headline that stretched across the top of the paper. Whispers of the news soon began spreading like wildfire.

Meanwhile, in the downstairs level of Downtara Castle, all was running at its normal fast pace. Mr. Cromwell sent off the footmen to be on their way while Mrs. Brown sent off the housemaids. The housemaids busily flitted about the upstairs rooms, ensuring all was organized and tidy. Footmen brought out breakfast dishes to the upstairs dining room for Lord Kensington and his three daughters (Her Ladyship usually took breakfast in the privacy of the bedroom), as well as stood ready to open any doors for the O'Hara family. Blythe went off to dress the three daughters while Boris Clarke—the first footman—dressed His Lordship (the latter was only a temporary vale until the new valet would arrive later that day). Nothing had seemed amiss in the slightest.

Except for the fact that the news courier was fifteen minutes late.

In the aristocracy, order _must _be maintained for the stereotypical air of vanity and pride that the family expressed. That being stated, Mr. Cromwell was—of course—a serious advocate of this concept. As a result, all activity at Downtara was to be done in an orderly manner. Everything from the precise wines to be brought out during dinner to the delivery of a newspaper must be held in accordance on a daily basis.

Stephen Roland, the second footman, went outside at 9:15 to see the newspaper courier.

"You're fifteen minutes late!" Stephen called out as the courier biked up to the servant's door.

The courier handed him the paper. "I know that!"

"That's no excuse! You're lucky I'm not Mr. Cromwell! 'Else, your head might be rolling!"

"I'm well aware of that! But just read it for yourself when you get the chance!" With that, the courier biked away from the house.

Sighing, Stephen brought the paper into a spare room. After setting it down on the ironing board, he set about looking for the iron.

The courier's words continued to resound in his mind. What ever could have happened? Stephen dearly hoped the news was not devastating or horrid.

Once he had found the iron (which thus had resulted in a stubbed toe), Stephen proceeded to iron out the paper.

Within minutes of ironing, the top headline caught his eye. He ceased the process momentarily and almost burned himself due to his negligence. Muttering about rotten luck, he set the iron down and peered at the headline more closely.

"No…"

With disbelief running through his veins, Stephen left the room to inform Mr. Cromwell of the news.

Stephen burst into the butler's office without so much as a warning which—no doubt—would cost him dear later. The butler quickly glanced up to see who his visitor was, but then soon returned to checking the wine tally.

"Mr. Cromwell-"

"Stephen, I'm very busy at the present moment."

"Please, sir-"

"Is anything the matter?" Mrs. Brown had suddenly appeared behind Stephen, worry etched into her features.

Stephen nodded and led them to the other room.

"I've not finished ironing it yet, so please-"

"Yes, yes, now what on earth is so-" Mr. Cromwell started as he read the headline.

"Oh my…" Mrs. Brown placed a hand over her mouth as the blood rushed out of her face.

"Stephen, finish ironing immediately. Once you are done, I will take it up to His Lordship."

Nodding, Joseph continued ironing, though there was now a slight tremor in his hand.

In bold, a headline popped out of the paper. Three words—perhaps the most horrifying three words to be printed—communicated a most devastating message:

_**TITANIC HAS SUNK.**_

* * *

Gerald had been eating breakfast with his daughters when Mr. Cromwell had delivered the telegram and the day's paper.

The day had started off rather well (waking up next to his lovely wife after a good night's rest was rather rewarding). He had planned to walk around the village after breakfast, and perhaps even call on his mother.

When he went down to breakfast, all had seemed normal. There were platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and scones spread across the back counter. After taking a bit of all the items, Gerald settled into his designated chair (at the head of the table), and warmly greeted his daughters. He helped himself to a cup of coffee before beginning to eat. Once pleasantries had been exchanged, Scarlett announced that the Duke of Crowborough was visiting within the next two days.

"Who told you?" Suellen questioned with an icy glare directed at Scarlett.

"Mama. Oh, don't look so sour, Suellen." Scarlett noted as Suellen faked a gag. "It's not very becoming, you know. You'll never catch a husband with that sort of look."

"Would you two please-" Careen began, but was soon interrupted by Mr. Cromwell's entrance.

"I beg your pardon, milord, but the papers from today had arrived late due to a rather…horrid event."

"Dear God, it cannot be that bad, surely?"

"I'm afraid it is, milord. I do apologize for not having it ready for you this morning."

"Oh, don't worry a thing about that, Cromwell. Such a trifle little misstep does not matter at such a time."

After wiping his mouth, Gerald took the paper and thanked Mr. Cromwell.

"A telegram has also just arrived for you, milord." The butler held out the silver tray on which the paper was neatly folded.

"Goodness, Cromwell! Is there anything else?"

"No, milord. That is all."

"Very well. Thank you, Cromwell."

Nodding, the butler exited the dining room just as Gerald read the news.

"No…It cannot be!"

Startled, his three daughters peered up at him.

"Papa…? What on earth's happened?" Careen gently questioned.

Gazing at his three daughters, Gerald briefly considered the idea of dropping the subject. Careen (especially) was much too young to handle such news, but she would have to discover the truth eventually, wouldn't she? Taking a steadying breath, he stated.

"The _Titanic _has sunken on her maiden voyage."

Gaping, the sisters sat in shock.

"But they said it was unsinkable!" Scarlett exclaimed.

"How many…" Suellen could not bear to utter the word.

Gerald glanced at the paper once more and read,

"'There were approximately 2,223 people on the ship. Of these 2,223 people, 705 to 706 have been reported either dead or missing…'"

"That's so terribly sad!" Suellen cried.

"How did it happen?" Careen asked.

"The paper says something about the ship hitting an iceberg, I believe…"

"May I please read it?" Careen looked rather hopeful.

Gerald sighed. He would have to accept the fact that she could handle it. The young girl was gradually beginning to grow up.

"Very well." He handed the paper over to her.

Using his butter knife, Gerald opened the telegram.

"Oh my God…"

His blood turned to ice as the tiny words processed themselves into his mind. He wished for them to be false, or to perhaps go back in time before reading the words.

Suddenly, Gerald wanted to talk to someone about it. He could not tell the girls, not yet. After breakfast, perhaps, but not at the present moment.

Ellen. He must tell Ellen.

Without explaining to his daughters (or the startled footman) why he had left breakfast so hastily, he went upstairs to his bedroom that he shared with Ellen.

Her Lady's maid, Ms. Florence Johnson, was just setting down Ellen's miniature in-bed table when he burst in.

"Gerald, what ever are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be eating breakfast with the girls?"

"We've had some rather unfortunate news, my dear…"

"If it's about the _Titanic_, I already know. Johnson was just telling me about it. How awful it is-"

"No, that's not it, but I'm afraid there is a connection to the sinking."

"Oh?"

He nodded grimly.

"Charles and Henry were on the ship."

"What?!" His wife gawked in worry. "Are they-"

"They are most certainly dead."

Gasping, Ellen thanked Ms. Johnson and dismissed her before setting aside her breakfast.

"_Both _of them? Are you quite sure?"

"Read it for yourself." He handed her the telegram.

Shaking her head, she mumbled,

"There must be a mistake…"

"I'm not so sure if this is a mistake, Ellen."

As the inevitable realization dawned on her, she turned even paler.

"If they are dead…then who will inherit the estate and the money?"

"That's precisely what I'm trying to figure out myself."

"Poor Scarlett…"

"I believe we've been saying that ever since we realized the estate could not be properly passed down to her."

Charles O'Hara had been the only son of Henry O'Hara. Henry had been the first cousin of Gerald. He had been the heir to the Earldom, as well as the family fortune (which was comprised of Ellen's money). Had he passed away before becoming the Earl of Kensington, the Earldom and fortune would go to his one and only son.

"Do the girls know?" Ellen asked as she delicately nibbled on a piece of toast.

Gerald sadly shook his head.

"Not yet. I might still catch them at breakfast if I hurry."

"Do go on, then. They ought to know."

"Especially Scarlett, I suppose…"

"Indeed."

With a sad smile, Gerald kissed his wife's cheek before exiting the room and eventually returning to the lion's den.

* * *

The servants were excitedly discussing the _Titanic_.

"Can you believe it? They said it was unsinkable!" Camilla's shrill voice exclaimed.

"'They' say loads o' stuff, don't they?" Boris drawled as a puff of smoke escaped his lips.

"Would you mind smoking outside?" Stephen asked as he waved the fumes away from his nose.

"Why's that? You got a problem with it?" Boris teased, flicking some ask onto the floor.

Just then, Mr. Cromwell entered the Servant's Hall. Hastily, all gathered whom we seated now stood.

"I'm sure you've all heard the rather devastating news about the _Titanic_."

"Not to mention the two family deaths." Ms. Johnson muttered under her breath.

"What was that, Ms. Johnson?" Mr. Cromwell was not as deaf as he appeared (sometimes).

Ms. Johnson looked up from her sewing.

"I jus' happened to be with Her Ladyship when His Lordship told her 'bout the death of Mr. James and Mr. Charles. I see no harm done in my knowing of it."

Gruffly, the butler nodded.

"Indeed, Ms. Johnson. There is absolutely no harm in knowing of it. However, we will refrain from mentioning the factoid to anyone else. Is that understood?"

All the staff nodded.

He turned to leave, but suddenly stopped short.

"Boris, would you please take those horrid fumes outside?"

Scowling at Stephen's tiny smirk of triumph, Boris left the Servant's Hall and headed to the outer grounds reserved for the servants. Ms. Johnson soon followed suit.

* * *

"How're you liking being His Lordship's valet?" Ms. Johnson asked as she lit a cigarette of her own.

Boris shrugged.

"I don' mind it, if that's what you mean. I wouldn' mind keepin' the job. I'm comfortable dressing His Lordship."

"I s'pose you're not lookin' forward to the new valet, then?"

"'Course not. Bloody hell, he's s'posed to come today, isn' he?"

"That's right. You ought to brush up on your footman duties if you ever want to get anywhere."

Boris pondered over the advice while puffing out more smoke.

"What do you s'pose I ought to do, then? Sabotage the poor bastard?"

"Perhaps. Maybe you ought to meet him first."

"Why do you say that?"

"You know very well _why_."

He stubbed out his cigarette.

"So how are you takin' the news 'bout the two dead men?"

"Alright, I s'pose. Never really knew 'em. You?"

" 'bout the same, I s'pose. The son was pleasant enough."  
"Is that so?"

"Shut your trap."

"Hm." She stubbed out her cigarette.

"Who'll inherit the estate, then?"

"I've no idea! Certainly won' be the lot of us."

"I'm not stupid."

"Me neither!"

"Can't go to Lady Scarlett."

"'Course not! 'less they found some way aroun' the entail."

"Doubt it."

"Agreed."

Suddenly, a shrill voice broke into their conversation.

"What do you mean? Why can't Lady Scarlett inherit the estate?" Camilla questioned.

Ms. Johnson mentally rolled her eyes.

"Because she's a woman, o' course. Everyone knows that!"

"You don't need to be so nasty 'bout it…"

"What Ms. Johnson means," Boris drawled, "is that it is illegal for a woman to own land. And there's simply no way 'round it." He finished the explanation with a tiny wink.

At this latter gesture, Camilla's eyes brightened and she nodded.

"I understan' now! Thank you, Boris!"

With a lovesick expression, she left the courtyard. When Camilla had been out of earshot, Boris laughed.

"Why do you lead the poor girl on like that?"

He smirked.

"You know very well _why_." He mimicked her earlier response.

"To irk the poor lad? He's not-"

"I don' care. All the staff knows 'bout his little crush but her. I don' mind torturing him by 'leading her on'."

"But why pick on him?"

"Everyone admires the git."

"So?"

"_So_, he's most likely to have the others gang up on me when something goes wrong."

"Jealous?"

"No. Just not fond o' the bloke."

"Suit yourself."

* * *

Many miles away from Downtara, a man named Mark Stevenson stepped off a train. A wooden cane remained enclosed in his right hand. He had a stature of six feet and two inches. Though he was not _terribly _overweight, Mr. Stevenson had a slightly widening girth; this latter characteristic gave him an air of defensiveness. His features were stoic and calm, like the sun shining through dark-grey clouds after a massive storm.

He soon limped towards the information booth.

"How far to Downtara Castle?" he asked the man in the booth.

"Approximately half a mile. Do you need a car, sir?"

Mark resolutely shook his head.

"I don't want to be a bother to anyone." Mark held up his free hand as the other man opened his mouth to protest. "Besides, I rather like the walk."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, quite sure." Mark smiled. "Do you happen to have directions?"

Nodding (with a bit of reluctant surrender), the man pointed out a nearby path that horse riders used. He warned Mark about the dung that might linger on the cobblestones. After thanking the man, Mark headed towards Downtara with what little gumption he himself claimed to possess.

Little did the man know what troubles loomed ahead at the massive estate.

* * *

**Note on the Interlude: I forgot that Camilla should actually be a Scullery Maid. I haven't changed it yet, but I probably will soon. Also, I don't think it would be Lord Kensington and such, but I'll have to do more research on that before changing it.  
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**Review, por favor y gracias. :)  
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	4. April 1912: Part II

**Probably the last update I'll post on here for a while. With graduation coming up, I'm gonna be busy as heck.  
**

**And, I admit that I stole one particular line from the show. It was too ingenious to pass up. It just _had _to be included. Some other lines are variations on lines from the show. Speaking of the show, is anyone watching series four? I'm tempted to quit on it...**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or GWTW.**_

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April 1912: Part II

Blythe Edwards was traveling upstairs to change Her Ladyship's sheets when the man suddenly entered the hallway.

He was not particularly handsome, but Blythe's heart quickened at his arrival to nonetheless. With his somewhat stocky form and fine clothes, she sensed a certain charm him. He carried himself with a quiet dignity that resonated through his manners. These same manners also reflected the gentleman he most certainly was.

Upon seeing her, he walked over and introduced himself as Mark Stevenson.

"Are you the new valet, then?"

"Yes, I am. And you are a housemaid, I assume? Presumably Head Housemaid?"

She laughed. "Indeed! I'm Blythe Edwards, by the way. Please, do just call me Blythe." She stuck out her hand.

Grasping it gently—yet firmly—he shook her hand.

"And who's this new friend of yours, Blythe?" A snarling voice drawled from behind her.

Blythe bit her tongue. The odious woman!

"Ms. Johnson, this is Mr. Stevenson. He will be His Lordship's valet."

"Ah. I see." The Lady's Maid glanced disdainfully over the newcomer as if he was spoiled milk.

"Why didn't you use the front door, Mr. Stevenson? A footman would've readily answered for you."

Blythe blushed furiously. How horribly he must think of his fellow servants now!

But the man—seeming unfazed—matched Ms. Johnson's icy tone and stated that he had not wanted special treatment.

Upon hearing this, Ms. Johnson smirked.

"But what of your leg, Mr. Stevenson? Surely it would have been easier to ask the chauffeur to drop you off-"

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Johnson, but I walked here from the station. As for my leg," he tapped it while Blythe stared at it, dumbfounded, "That is a matter of which that only concerns myself."

Blythe gasped as she saw the wooden cane that he grasped in his right hand. She had hoped that he wouldn't hear the tiny outburst, but his response proved otherwise.

"It is my burden to carry, and mine alone. Please, do not pity me. I would despise that more than anything else." He smiled sadly.

She glanced down at her shoes, blushing furiously. Surely he must think the worst of them now!

"Ah, the new valet, I suppose?" Mrs. Brown suddenly appeared before the trio.

"Yes. How do you do." He smiled.

Returning the greeting, she inquired about his trip. When he had revealed to her that he had neglected the use of a car, as well as deliberately ignored entering through the front door, she berated him.

"Why, Mr. Stevenson! Surely it would have been no bother-"

"Mrs. Brown, I assure you, I did not mind my walk or my choice of entry. In fact, I insisted upon carrying out my actions in this particular manner."

Shaking her head, she abolished him once more before finding Stephen. After a brief introduction to the Second Footman, the two shook hands before Mrs. Brown ordered for Stephen to bring the new valet to his living quarters.

"I trust Mr. Cromwell has showed you which room Mr. Stevenson will be residing in, Stephen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Brown."

"Very good. Off you go, then!"

Nodding, the boy took Mr. Stevenson's luggage—which the new valet silently protested and led him to the Servants' Quarters.

Glancing at the blushing Head Housemaid and fuming Lady's Maid, the Housekeeper sighed. What troubles would arise as a result of this man's employment?

_~o~_

"Oh, Gerald! Did you truly have to install electricity in this place?" Roseanne whipped out a fan rather dramatically to emphasize her point. His mother had made yet another unexpected visit to Downtara and was currently fanning herself furiously as she sat down in the drawing room.

"Oh, Mamma, please! Times are changing, and Downtara must keep up. Besides, the electrical light fixtures are only on the first floor. Ellen and the girls cannot stand the electricity in their rooms!" Gerald looked rather proud of himself as he poured a glass of pre-dinner brandy from a decanter.

"I don't know how you can stand it, darling. I wouldn't be able to bear it for a moment, what with all these fumes!" she shook her head as Gerald offered a glass of brandy for her, mumbling about how awfully strong it was.

"What should I do, Mamma? About the entail, I mean?"

Roseanne—always the fine, stiff-backed portrait of aristocratic elegance—sighed in defeat.

"I cannot assist you in that matter, I'm afraid."

Gerald passed a hand over his face.

"I shall see who my nearest relation is, then. I see no other choice."

"But is that _wise_, my dear boy? What if he ends up being some sort of…country bumpkin?" The mere thought sent a small shudder down the Dowager's back. "How horrible that would be!"

"Mamma, there is nothing else we can do, is there?"

"Unfortunately, there is not. However, I for one refuse to pass Downtara on to some stranger from God-knows-where! Don't you care for this place at all?"

This last remark ignited a fire in Gerald. He was a full grown man, yet his mother still proved to be very protective of him. However, as is with the nature of maturing, he found that his mother did not rule his life, nor should she attempt to. This being stated, he could not bear the slicing arrow his mother had just shot into his heart. In order to deflect any further wounds, he set off on a monologue.

"I've given my life to Downtara. I was born here, and I hope to die here. I claim no career beyond the nurture of this house and the estate. It is my third parent and my fourth child. Do I care about it? Yes, I do care!"

All was silent for a moment in the drawing room.

"You do realize that Ellen's fortune is also at stake, then?" His mother broke the barrier between them.

"Of course I'm aware of that, Mamma."

"And yet you still married her against my wishes-"

"Would it surprise you very much if I told you that she has made me very happy?"

She huffed indignantly.

"I must say, Gerald…She has made you _happy_? Do you even love that American wife of yours?"

"Of course I do, Mamma-"

"But not initially, though?"

Wincing, he reluctantly nodded. "You know that for a fact, Mamma."

"And, pray tell, how long _have _you loved her?"

"It took me a year after our marriage."

"A year? Are you quite-"

"Mamma, I've already tired of this conversation."

She gestured to the decanter of brandy.

"I've changed my mind. This whole affair has made me awfully thirsty!"

_~o~_

"Oh, how dreadful I look in black!" Scarlett sighed as she caught sight of her reflection.

The three sisters (as well as Blythe) had congregated in Scarlett's bed chambers. This was a tradition of sorts with them. Ever since they were young girls, the three sisters would always gather in Scarlett's bedroom before dinner. They would pretend to do each other's hair and attempt to dress themselves in corsets. What fun it was!

But then, as Scarlett neared the age of twelve, she began to acquire the haughtiness of the aristocracy. She prided herself on being the eldest daughter, and therefore expected all to bow down to her, for she was to inherit Downtara if she married a family relation. Suellen grew rather jealous of her sister, and soon found it impossible to spend any time with her. Careen found herself refereeing all of her sisters' fights, and thus began to grow and mature at the young age of eight.

Despite the tension the two eldest sisters felt towards each other, they tolerated each other's presence to the best of their ability in the Scarlett's room.

The rooms of each sister matched their personality. Scarlett's room had vibrant walls; her bed canopy was varying shades of crimson (the colors also true to her namesake). Her vanity was littered with cosmetics and a wide assortment of brushes. The aroma of different _eau de colognes _lingered in the air.

"But look on the bright side! Mamma and Papa said that we'll only have to go into half-mourning!" Careen smiled slightly for her sister's benefit, but her red-rimmed eyes told of anything but happiness within her.

"How could you be so cruel?" Suellen glared at Scarlett before wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "Did you never love or care for Charles, your own fiancé?"

Scarlett winced. "Please, don't call him my fiancé."

"Well, then what do you call someone you're about to marry?"

"Would you two-Oh!" Careen suddenly looked rather pale. "Blythe? Would you please loosen my corset?"

"You're putting on weight, darling." Scarlett chided as Blythe began to undo Careen's stays.

"I am not putting on weight." The girl blushed furiously.

Suellen patted Careen's shoulder.

"Of course not, darling. Scarlett's just being horrid once again." She glared at the eldest daughter.

"I really do wish you would shut up once in a while." Scarlett rolled her eyes and soon focused her attention on choosing her jewelry.

Blythe sighed. "Milady-"

Suellen raised a hand to stop Blythe from finishing her sentence. "Why must you insist on being so horrible?"

"Please, both of you! Stop, just…not now, please." Careen rubbed her temples as Blythe finished re-doing her stays.

"Anything else, milady?" Blythe asked Scarlett.

"Not for me, no." She glanced at her younger sisters. "Do either of you need anything else?"

They both shook their heads. Bobbing a curtsy, Blythe left as the girls thanked her.

"Let's go, then." With one last look at her reflection, Scarlett stood up from her vanity and led the three sisters down to the dining room.

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**I was actually listening to "The Suite" when I was typing up one part of this...  
**

**Full credit to Julian Fellows for the following line: "...****I was born here, and I hope to die here. I claim no career beyond the nurture of this house and the estate. It is my third parent and my fourth child. Do I care about it? Yes, I do care!" **

**The whole weight issue with Careen and Scarlett? That was directly from the show, but not in the pilot, I believe. **

**By the way, I've made a decision. I won't include every single moment of the show. This being stated, I will be writing this in a mixture of canon/non-canon. **

**Reviews are much appreciated.**


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